


For the Only Reason

by IAmANonnieMouse



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-12 17:25:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18015173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmANonnieMouse/pseuds/IAmANonnieMouse
Summary: The soft scrape of his window sliding open is so familiar that Stiles doesn’t even bother opening his eyes.“Puppy pile?” he grunts, rolling to one side of the bed.He feels the mattress dip, and Derek’s warm scent wraps itself around him.“Just me,” Derek says.





	For the Only Reason

Stiles bursts into the apartment and almost crashes headfirst into Scott. “What is it, what happened?” he asks.

“The witch fired some weird blast,” Scott says, “and it hurt him pretty bad, but he isn’t letting us help him, so—”

“Oh, fuck that.” Stiles pushes past him and marches over to where Derek’s crouched in the corner, growling at the rest of the pack.

“Derek,” Isaac says, but Derek just growls louder.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Shut up, sourwolf, unless you want gangrene all down your back.”

Derek’s growl abruptly stops, and he snarls, “Shut up, Stiles.”

“You shut up,” Stiles fires back. He snatches the damp cloth from Isaac’s limp hand and says, “Now turn around and let me scrub the mud out of that.”

“It’ll heal,” Derek snaps.

“It’ll heal faster if you let me fucking clean it,” Stiles shouts.

“Um, Stiles,” Scott starts, but he stops when Derek abruptly lets out a short snarl and turns around, giving Stiles his back.

Stiles lets out a low whistle when he sees the damage. “Damn, big guy, that witch really got you good.”

“Are you gonna talk or are you gonna help?” Derek asks.

Stiles crouches down and pushes aside the remaining tatters of Derek’s shirt, then gingerly runs the cloth down the nearest mark. The gouges are deep and raw, and Derek twitches as the cloth catches on something embedded in the wound.

“Settle down, big guy,” Stiles murmurs, “I’ve got you.” He puts his left hand on Derek’s shoulder, thumb resting against the back of Derek’s neck.

And Derek settles down. He sits there, letting out a low growl every once and a while when something hurts, while Stiles picks out every rock and broken twig and glob of mud from the wounds in his back.

*

When the pack walk into Derek’s apartment for their usual Sunday movie night, the place is dark and quiet.

“Derek?” Stiles calls.

“I hear him,” Erica says. She leads them into the den, and sure enough, Derek’s there, sprawled across his couch, sound asleep.

“I call the couch!” Stiles whisper-shouts, and he dramatically belly flops on top of Derek. 

Derek grunts and his eyes flicker open. “Stiles?” he croaks.

“Go back to sleep, sourwolf,” Stiles says. “It’s just movie night.”

Derek grunts again and closes his eyes while his betas argue over watching _Fight Club_ versus _The Princess Bride._

Stiles shifts around, trying to get comfortable. An arm wraps around his waist, and Derek rumbles, “Stop moving,” in his ear.

“Just wanted to find a way not to elbow your rib cage,” Stiles says, but he settles in and watches the opening credits play for whatever movie the others have settled on.

Derek’s grip around his waist tightens slightly, and Stiles drifts off to the sound of his friends bickering and the thrum of Derek’s heart under his ear.

He wakes up two hours later, groggy and bleary. Scott’s made more popcorn for him, because that’s what best bros are for. Stiles realizes he has left an embarrassing amount of drool on Derek’s shirt, but Derek doesn’t seem to care.

“Pass me the popcorn,” he murmurs into Stile’s ear.

Stiles does, but not before grabbing a handful for himself, first.

*

“Did you find anything yet?”

Stiles squints at his laptop. “Not in the 5 minutes since you last asked me, Scott. Give the master time to work.”

Derek leans over his shoulder. “What about that?”

Stiles slaps his hand away from the screen. “Keep your dirty paws off my laptop screen.”

Derek glowers at him. “Paws?” he repeats.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Would you rather I said mitts?”

Derek exhales loudly and rests his head on Stile’s shoulder.

“Dude,” Stiles groans, “your chin is scratchy.”

“Tough,” Derek says. “Now go back to the other page. I want to read it.”

Stiles sighs and scrolls back up through the document.

*

The soft scrape of his window sliding open is so familiar that Stiles doesn’t even bother opening his eyes.

“Puppy pile?” he grunts, rolling to one side of the bed.

He feels the mattress dip, and Derek’s warm scent wraps itself around him.

“Just me,” Derek says.

Stiles grunts. “Puppy pile.”

Derek snorts and slips under the covers after kicking off his shoes. He presses his back against Stiles insistently until Stiles sighs dramatically and takes the hint.

Stiles rolls over and tosses an arm over Derek’s waist, sloppily tangling their legs together. 

“Wonder what the rest of the pack would say if I told them you’re the little spoon,” he snickers.

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek says sleepily. “I came here for sleep, not snark.”

Stiles pushes his nose into Derek’s shirt, right over his triskelion, and they sleep.

*

“Hey, Der?” Stiles asks one night. They’re sprawled on his bed, ostensibly to go through the bestiary, but Derek’s jacket is draped over the back of Stile’s desk chair and neither of them has even opened Stile’s laptop.

“Yes, Stiles?” Derek cracks open his eyes.

“Are we, like, wolf-married?”

Derek inhales slowly. 

“If not, that’s okay,” Stiles blurts. “I was just wondering. Cuz I’m, like, always up in your space, dude. And you’re in mine? And I like it, don’t get me wrong, but I wasn’t sure if there was a reason? Or if I’m just being stupid. I’m probably being stupid. I was gonna ask Scott about it, but then he kept talking about Allison and I chickened out, so—”

“Stiles.”

Stiles stops to breathe. “Yeah?”

Derek gently lifts one of Stiles’ hands and places it against his own throat. Stiles stares, transfixed by the sight of his fingers pressed against Derek’s skin.

“You think I let just anyone do this?” Derek asks softly. Stiles can feel the vibrations under his own palm.

“No,” Stiles whispers.

“No,” Derek says.

They stay there for a moment, and Stiles feels Derek breathe. 

“So, what, am I your wolf wife, now?” Stiles blurts.

Derek laughs so hard he complains about the stitch in his side for the rest of the afternoon. Stiles can’t help but be ridiculously proud of that.

(The rest of the pack start calling him “Mom,” and, well. He’s a little ridiculously proud of that, too.)


End file.
